


the color of our blood

by thisismyshameaccount



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Daddy Kink, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Incest, Infidelity, Older Man/Younger Woman, Omega Verse, Parent/Child Incest, Pheromones, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-17 20:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisismyshameaccount/pseuds/thisismyshameaccount
Summary: Despite a number of protegees Thanos of Titan picked up on various planets over the years, like so much flotsam and jetsam floating on the tide, he had but one biological daughter, his youngest, and it was a known fact he favored her above all others.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the tags – all of them – and do not continue if this isn't your thing. It isn't usually my thing, either. I have no explanation.
> 
> I've never written A/B/O before, and I've only read one or two fics of it ages ago, so I'm not very familiar with the established “rules” of the universe and I'm mostly doing my own thing here!
> 
> To my particular friend, who will remain anonymous due to our mutual shame over all this – I wouldn't have thought of the A/B/O idea for them, so thank you for that, and for the many other juicy conversations that I drew inspiration from. May God have mercy on our souls.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Then the man said, At last, here is one of my own kind;_

_Bone of my bone, and flesh from my flesh._

_And she shall be called Daughter, because she was brought forth from me._

_\- adapted from Genesis 2:22-23, GNT_

 

 

* * *

 

 

Anybody who spent even a modicum of time aboard Thanos of Titan's massive mothership came to know two personal details about him, relevant to their own conduct: the first was that while the alpha was not prone to unjustified anger, he did not suffer fools lightly. Or at all. Duties should be performed promptly and skillfully, failure avoided at all costs, and if one had occasion to speak to or encounter him, words should be chosen with great care.

The second was that despite a number of protegees he'd picked up on various planets over the years, like so much flotsam and jetsam floating on the tide, Thanos had but one biological daughter, his youngest, and it was her he favored above all others. He didn't broadcast this, but it was evident all the same.

And if it was wise not to cross Thanos, it was even more imperative not to upset her – for while she was in possession of a more relaxed temperament than her sire, and not the sort to run crying to him with minor complaints, if news of her agitation reached Thanos the consequences would be severe. When she was eleven, one of Thanos' older Children publicly made a pass at her, and was never seen again.

Rumor had it he was sent out the airlock in pieces.

On a ship of this size – a floating city, really – hearsay and gossip had a natural tendency to spread. Often, information became distorted, retold, and questioned along the way. But interestingly, regarding this particular morsel of speculation, no one doubted it in the least.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There were immutable facts that Talia knew, without ever having consciously noticed, about her father – that his eyes were blue, that he was much taller than her, that as far as resemblance they shared similar skin color and not much else. That his voice was deep, that when he smiled his eyes sparked before his mouth curved, that when she was smaller he'd crouched down to explain things at her level and though she reached his biceps now, from time to time he'd fall back into the habit.

So at what point did her mind create precise memories of the shade of his eyes (sleet in winter,) their skin tones against each other (his a distinct mauve, her own a pale taupe that only revealed lavender in bright light,) and the span of his hands?

Talia did not remember her mother. She knew only the basics – that her parents hadn't been married nor known each other well, that her mother had been a beta, and that she died not long after Talia's birth. Sixteen years ago now, too long for a child's mind to store even the briefest recollection. She would've liked to have known her mother, yet didn't feel especially deprived. Thanos was teacher, mentor, trainer, confidant – and and though he was stern, his paternal love was a strong current under still waters.

She was aware his esteem for her was a cut above that for his other Children – but why not? He had sired her after all, hadn't he? Known her since she came into this world? Her conscience wouldn't have borne it if he'd been cruel to the others but he wasn't. Besides, they were all ten years older than her at minimum, often absent, and well grown out of the phase of life in which one needed a parent's hands-on attention.

(Though how someone could ever grow independent and detached from a father, Talia still had yet to determine.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I don't like Cass,” she pronounced somewhat sheepishly, walking with Thanos in the ship's gardens with her boots in her hand and her bare feet in the lush lawn. He remained on the pathway, hands linked behind his back, and she studiously avoided his gaze.

“Any reason why?”

 _I don't know her. You don't know her. I don't want her around._ “I dunno.”

“Speak up, daughter.”

She raised her chin obediently, though there was a stubborn set to it. “It's weird. It's like she's barging into our lives.”

“You've only met her once. She's not a bad person.” They walked side by side in silence: Thanos' footsteps were measured on the smooth stone path, Talia's soundless on the grass, the inky dome of space arcing overhead. While she could admit she'd found nothing truly wrong with her father's beta bride-to-be during their short and formal meeting, it was the principle of the thing.

“The marriage will be politically beneficial,” Thanos continued. “Her planet Formai gains the prestige of my name, and in return their plentiful coffers are freely accessible to me. It will all be quietly dissolved after an appropriate few years have passed.”

“Are you going to have a big wedding?”

“No,” he chuckled.

“Good. I don't want to get dressed up.”

“I'm aware.” He raised one brow at her exercise pants, loose and banded just below the knee. “How many pairs of those do you have, now?”

“Maybe they're lucky. Maybe they're why I win so much.”

“You and I have different definitions of 'so much'.”

She tsked in feigned offense, and he tipped his head backward, toward the exit. “Return to your training, and perhaps then I can revise my opinion.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cass Hellen of Formai had much to ponder regarding her new marriage. If this was even worth it, how long until they could discreetly divorce, things of that nature. The ceremony had been basic and perfunctory, so much so that she almost kept forgetting she was married now. The wedding night fit the same descriptors.

Another thought was her stepdaughter – if she could even call the girl that. Talia was nearing adulthood so it was odd to think of her by that term, even if she was more than half Cass' age and still unpresented. Though Talia had been civil so far, and was usually buoyant and at ease around her father, her attitude toward Cass was laced with a subtle streak of resentment, like mud on a clean sheet, a smudge of dislike on what Cass had hoped would be an amicable relationship.

She wouldn't have predicted Thanos of Titan to be the type to spoil his offspring, and indeed it didn't appear to be the case with his older adopted Children. She was hesitant to use the word spoiled at all as Talia seemed hard-working and clever, and Thanos' expectations for her were high and uncompromising. Yet there was a deep attachment there that, in Cass' estimation, led to a slight leniency he allotted her that separated her from the rest. And in turn, Talia looked at her father as if he'd personally hung every star in the sky.

“You coddle her,” Cass said one evening, three months after the wedding, once the girl had left for her own rooms and she and her husband were finally alone.

“You know I do no such thing,” he replied without so much as looking at her.

In the lounge after dinner Talia had plonked herself on her father's lap as if it were a throne. Thanos' surprise had seemed mild, and though he'd gently relocated her to the empty space next to him on the couch, the girl's behavior was turning into a pattern, one he had done little to censure. Cass didn't know how things had been on Titan, but where she came from, it wasn't normal for an almost grown daughter to drape herself on her father that way.

“You don't think she's rather... ostentatious with her affection?”

“When I become interested in your opinion on my relationship with my child,” he responded coolly, “I assure you, I will ask for it.”

Cass' brief flare of courage faltered, and she said no more, and retired to her separate bedchamber.

She almost wanted him to get angry – at least that would mean he felt something, anything, about her. Instead, his indifferent reserve told her just how little he thought of his wife.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You haven't trained with me in so long, Father.”

Talia was accustomed to making long strides to keep up with Thanos but he usually met her in the middle by tailoring his own. He did not now, and she reached for his arm to slow his pace.

“I wouldn't say that's true. I recall trouncing you quite handily a week or so ago.”

She counted back and realized he was right. It had felt longer.

“There are over a dozen trainers or siblings for you to spar with,” he reasoned. “If you fight only me, you will stagnate. And you know I've been occupied lately.”

“You've been busy before, but you never ignored me.”

“Ignored you?” Thanos stopped in his tracks and made a sharp 90 degree turn, fixing her with an exasperated but level stare. “I will not argue with you, daughter, nor entertain your baseless resentment. This is unlike you.”

Talia's cheeks burned, and her posture slumped. It was unlike her, and she didn't care for it. She felt squirmy and unsettled, as if she'd eaten something that had gone off – but unlike a passing illness, this lingered, like a gnawing disease.

Her unhappiness must show in her expression – all her emotions tended to – because he slid a hand around the nape of her neck, turning her face up to him.

“You know you have nothing to trouble yourself with regarding my love for you. But the work rolls on, and requires my utmost concentration. And Cass is...”

_Nothing. Say she's nothing._

“Cass is complicated,” he finished. “But that has no bearing on you and me, and it is not what has kept me busy."

It didn't occur to Talia until after they had parted ways that she'd never even brought up Cass.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The Kaedians did know how to throw a party. Thanos never much cared for those. Though he did appreciate the respect indicated by their hospitality, and their reception to his overtures. The volume of their pulsating music, however, should've been halved.

Across the great hall, Talia was holding court very well. She didn't care for raucous gatherings any more than he did, but no one would guess that now. She blended in with her Kaedian garb, the in fact the very same that landed her on this mission in the first place.

“A unique style for you,” Thanos had commented mildly, not giving her the satisfaction of an excessive response, when she'd swanned into the lounge wearing the daringly revealing garment as casually as she wore a plain tunic. Cass had been present, and coughed to hide her disapproval. “Since when do you enjoy fine clothing?”

“We've been orbiting Kaedi for a few days now, and I was curious, so I visited the bazaars in their capitol with my tutor.”

“Did you learn anything of value, or just how to admire yourself in a mirror?”

“I got a very good bargain. Haggled the shopkeeper down to about nothing. That's a useful skill, right?” She twirled, and the vibrant teal fabric flared like gossamer wings behind her, soaring up to unveil practically every inch of her lithe legs. “What do you think?”

“I think if you like the Kaedian fashions so much, you can accompany me to the presidential banquet tomorrow.”

“Aw, no,” she'd objected, and that had sealed her fate.

He could admit now that the hue of the gown flattered her, though the filmy quality of the fabric and how it swooped down to reveal her entire back felt rather... adult. The expanse of exposed skin was dusted with a golden shimmer, to match the beading threaded through her bountiful hair. She hadn't had all that on earlier. He would've remembered.

He could tell her laughter was more polite than genuine, but the pleasing effect on her countenance was the same. She was equally adept in combat or in a cluster of bureaucrats, and he felt a quiet flicker of pride.

From Talia's vantage point, she could maintain track of her father from the corner of her eye – his height and his regal, gleaming armor were unmissable among the whip-thin Kaedian dignitaries – as she engaged with the courtiers. It was an easy task, since they gabbled her ear off. Though their cheer and flattery was routine, it was still pleasant, more-so than she'd expected.

“Might I tell you, with the utmost reverence, how radiant you are this evening?” The admirer was sheathed in an elaborate confection of emerald fabric that matched his slanted eyes, and beneath the slits that served as a nose, his smile was genial. “Our traditional attire suits you marvelously, Talia of Thanos. How joyful to see a visitor show such appreciation for our customs.”

“The joy is mine, to wear and see such splendid garments,” she replied, copying his flowery speech. She rotated to demonstrate the gown's lavish twirl, and he beamed.

He introduced himself as the Minister of Finance, and as funding was one of several things her father sought from this stop, she sent a glance his way to wordlessly call him over. But at some point while she'd made small talk Cass had materialized, clad in well-tailored but modest formal wear, by Thanos' side.

Talia's bright grin slipped, but she bolstered it back up before the Minister noticed. Cass had little-to-nothing to do with Thanos' work or with missions like these, and last Talia had seen her was on the ship earlier today. Perhaps she'd grown bored and decided to surprise him. She was the picture of elegance, Talia conceded begrudgingly, with her sleek dark hair swept up and wrists adorned with stacks of bangles. They glinted against Thanos' arm-guard, silver on gold, as she slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. Keeping up appearances.

Meanwhile the Minister waxed rhapsodic about a recent dual lunar eclipse, and the berries the wine tonight was made from, and how he'd be gratified to show her the orchards by the river, if she had time of course...

He moved closer while she surreptitiously watched her father and his wife over his shoulder. Cass' attire, common to her homeworld, covered her in gray satin from clavicle to ankle. Talia's gown wasn't dissimilar to those of the Kaedian women present but she wondered if, to her father, she came across tawdry.

She felt no attraction for the Minister, but his approach was easy and entertaining and the compliments free-flowing. So she gave herself permission to enjoy it. She learned the intricacies of Kaedian currency, and how such vivid dye was created for their colorful clothing, and when she saw the turn of Thanos' head she laughed visibly at a mediocre joke and inclined her body in a sensual _S._

At last she assessed her father directly, and found him no longer looking at her at all. He was probably irked by her brazenness. She'd never hamper their goals here on Kaedi, but a round of chaste fun was harmless. If he didn't like it, too bad.

_Serves him right._

She wasn't sure where that smug little suggestion came from. Or why.

“Would you care for a glass of wine?” the Minister solicited.

“Yes,” Talia answered. “I absolutely would.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“This needs to stop.” Thanos rarely took such a tone with her but his command was low, each syllable enunciated and undercut with grit.

“ _What_ needs to stop?” Talia bit back, like the whistle of a blade through the air. She never used to speak to him that way, either. The insolence came quicker than it once did but still tasted sour on her tongue.

“Don't play dumb. You're smarter than that.” He was disappointed, and her belly did a nervous flip. She crumbled when he was unhappy with her.

“I'm not doing anything.” She could hear the razor-edge of distress in her own voice, and clenched her teeth to hold it back. Even forlorn, she must have the ring of sincerity, because his sharp glower relented.

“Playing the coquette on Kaedi. Neglecting your training unless I'm personally there to ensure you do it. The provoking and attention-seeking attitude. Do you claim to be utterly oblivious to this trend?”

Did she deserve his accusations? Had she been running amok like an unruly child? She couldn't deny there had been tension, but the way he said it... like she was conniving and petty and needy...

“Not on purpose, Father.”

“Then I believe you,” he stated. “Since I know you wouldn't lie to me.”

He leaned back on his heels, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Perhaps your presentation approaches.”

At just shy of eighteen now, she was overdue for it, but often it happened later for alphas so there was no cause for concern. Talia knew emotions ran high before first rut but she expected a different experience – not this despondent yearning she couldn't identify. An empty belly unable to be filled, an itch she couldn't scratch.

“Maybe,” she parroted back, crossing her own arms in dubious imitation of him.

“Things will be easier after. Take it from one who knows.” He looked more assured now, having found an explanation, but tilted his head at her. “Do you not trust me, daughter?”

He extended his hand, a peace offering, and she took it and let him draw her into his side. This was her infallible comfort, her haven, calming and energizing at all once. She exhaled.

“You know I do.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thanos never liked to admit himself at a loss for anything, but regarding his youngest child, he was squarely in unfamiliar territory.

He managed his Children with a firm hand, and so it wasn't often that behavioral issues cropped up, but something about Talia felt different from the usual adolescent difficulties and he didn't like that he couldn't pin it down – or put a stop to it.

She'd always been spirited and tenacious, normal traits for an unpresented young alpha that had channeled beautifully into her training, but it was tempered by a natural and pleasant sweetness that was absent as of late. Mood swings were common just before first presentation, but this had gone on too long.

Affection had always flowed easily between them, but now it was never enough for her. When they were together her inherent good-humored and playful nature shone, but if he became caught up in his obligations or was away too long she morphed into a sullen and needy creature. And while he might have once lauded her sense of adventure, now she engaged in shenanigans that seemed custom designed to stir his wrath. The day before she and some pals stole a landing shuttle for a jaunt to the planetoid the ship was orbiting, and when caught and brought before him, she'd had the audacity to look pleased with herself.

“I could take you over my knee right now,” he'd growled, knuckles paling as he'd gripped the throne's armrests. “Discipline you like the brat you've been acting like. Is that what you want?”

A certain cast to her expression, intimidation infused with something else, made him wish he'd chosen another threat.

In the end he decided that if his attention was what she wanted so badly, a fitting punishment would be to withdraw it, and he'd banished her to her chambers. When she flounced away, she'd done so with a swing to her hips that seemed entirely too mature.

He entertained the idea that she might be envious of Cass, but discarded the notion just as soon as it had come. It was no secret that he and his wife spent little time together. They'd only had sex the once as a formality, let alone developed any sort of genuine marital relationship over the past two years. If there existed any jealousy, it was from Cass towards Talia – but even then Thanos sensed it was less from genuine envy, and more from irritation at his daughter's near-omnipresence.

He allowed his thoughts to touch on a half-formed theory that had nagged at him for a while: to consider that Talia's attention-seeking might be a misplaced experimentation with youthful flirtation. She was vibrant and beautiful and had no shortage of hopeful suitors nosing around, waiting for her presentation, and it made a sort of sense that she might flex these newfound feminine powers on the closest male figure in her life.

But that seemed a dangerous road to let his musings travel along, one that would be difficult to return from once he went down it. And as far as he was aware, she'd never paid romance much mind, concentrating instead on her studies and her training. Commendable.

He abandoned that concept, like one would draw back from a too-hot flame.

A more reasonable explanation, he at last determined, was that there was a medical problem: a delay in her presentation, sending her hormones askew and drawing out the process. Talia was a fine young woman, and would be a fine warrior and alpha. She apparently just needed a little extra guidance in getting there.

Thanos had always found it difficult to stay angry with his youngest and he felt a pang of guilt now, for having been harsh with her. He would speak to her, discuss the issue and bring her straight away to the medical center. There was a physician who specialized in such matters. He could well remember the brief period before his own presentation – that restless energy, the aimless and hair-trigger aggression – and if all this was snarling up inside his daughter, no wonder her behavior was off-kilter.

Her chambers were not far from his own, and he resolved to see her after his morning responsibilities were concluded.

Several hours later he left the ship's bridge on a trajectory toward the upper habitation deck. He was in good humor, having accomplished much, but as he drew nearer his destination he was caught off guard by the unexpected and unmistakable scent of an omega in heat.

He wrestled his instinctive sexual response into submission, replacing it with irritation. Omegas on board were required to take regular suppressants – otherwise their cycles were a hindrance to their duties and a distraction to the alphas around them – so clearly someone had been careless with their dose.

He moved swiftly through the corridors, following the trail and trying to place the familiar ribbon of scent wound through the pheromones. Whoever was responsible, whether of high rank or a lowly peon, would receive his personal reprimand. He'd seen well-functioning crews all but torn apart by lust-driven mania, and while such extremes were infrequent, any such disorder had no place on his vessel.

He pinned his stare on the first person he saw – the guard he'd had placed outside Talia's chambers to ensure she didn't skip out on her punishment. He didn't even have to speak before the beta exclaimed, head bowed in deference, “It isn't me, master.”

Thanos was washed with another inebriating cascade of scent and he had to steady himself, hand braced against the door-frame. The guard scuttled away in a sidelong manner.

Thanos blinked away the rising haze of rut, refusing to give in to it. He was no untried youth, subject to the whims of biology. The heat pheromones were affecting him more than they should. To ground himself he focused on the first thing in front of him: the access panel to his daughter's rooms.

Slow understanding began to unfurl.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Talia lay curled on the cool tile of her bedroom floor, desperate to ease the fever that consumed her. She'd stripped to her underwear with no success, and the multiple glasses of cold water from her washroom sink were uselessly tepid. Her skin stung as if sunburned, perspiration dotting her hairline.

She didn't try to suppress her wail of misery. No one was around to hear.

She'd assume this was her first rut, but this wasn't how it was supposed to go, was it? Maybe she'd picked up a fast-acting virus on that planetoid, and this was the consequence for her act of rebellion. As was standard, she was vaccinated against everything imaginable, but the universe was immeasurably large with much still unexplored – perhaps she could be credited for the discovery of this new sickness, with a paragraph in a textbook noting the date of her untimely death...

In some vague way she was conscious of the opening swish of the door. Her skull was leaden as she lifted it. A vast silhouette filled the doorway, one that didn't move as the door closed again behind him.

“Father...” Talia's voice broke, fear and bewilderment and embarrassment engulfing her. “ Something's wrong with me. I'm too hot, I can't... I can't breathe...”

When he scooped her up she lolled like a rag-doll in his arms, head swiveling as if she had no control of it, hands making useless flutterings against his shoulders. He had to duck to enter the washroom, and he didn't turn the light on, but shifted her weight to one arm and entered the shower stall. At the icy spray from the shower head she gasped shrilly, sputtering and squeezing her eyes shut. The combined relief and shock of the water was torture and she moaned, turning her face into his chest.

She was dimly aware of movement and then they were on the shower floor together, his back against the wall. His arms and knees formed a cradle for her shivering body. In the dim light filtering in from the bedroom she could see his profile: eyes half-closed, jaw tight, water coming in rivulets down his features.

“I-I feel like I'm going to d-die...”

“You won't.” He sounded utterly sure of himself. But then, he usually did. Maybe he was just trying to be stoic.

“Aren't you cold?”

A muscle ticked in his cheek. “No.”

A shudder raced through her and she tucked her head under his chin, clinging to him.

“I want it to be over,” she wept. “I need m-medicine, or something, I... I need...”

“I know, little one.”

“Why can't we go to the med center?” she begged. Her arms were snaking around his neck now of their own accord.

“There are drugs that can help you, later, but not this time.” His voice was both compassionate and strained, his arms around her steadfast but stiff.

“So this – this is my rut, then?” her teeth chattered. This burning, helpless desperation – it wasn't what she'd anticipated. _But since when are there rut-suppressant drugs? Those are only for heats._

“No.” She felt rather than heard his sigh, drowned out by the water. There was a connection here, but she was missing it. Her brain was functioning at half-power, fizzling like a broken wire. “I'm sorry. I let myself assume...”

Her wet fingertips came across the barely-there bristle at the base of his scalp. As she opened her mouth to suck in an unsteady breath her lips grazed his throat. He startled violently. She pulled herself upright, flush against him – his hand spreading over her bare back felt good, so good...

“I'm going to put you down now, Talia.” Her name came out stifled. The hand was removed.

“No, don't... don't leave me by myself. Daddy, please.”

It was hard to tell through the water but he made an odd noise. When he spoke again it was very deliberately, as if it took great effort.

“This isn't a rut. It's a heat.”

“A heat... like an omega heat?” That pierced through the fog, if only just. “You mean... _me,_ I'm...?”

“I'm sorry,” he said again. It wasn't often she heard her father apologize to anyone. “The fault is mine, for not thinking to prepare you for this possibility. I fell into the fool's trap of assumption.”

 _Omega._ It barely sunk in before her brain decided for her that this could be processed later. He was still holding her. He hadn't left.

“Don't go,” she pleaded, to be completely sure.

His arms circled around her again. “Alright.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

At some point, Talia passed out. One moment she was shuddering and panting and curving into him and the next, she was limp and insensate.

It was probably for the best. The frigid shower had done the trick but it was only a stop-gap solution. She'd be awake in a few hours, and it would get worse before it got better. First heats were intense, and could last up to a week.

Thanos castigated himself for having failed to equip her to deal with this. Why had he blindly presumed she would present alpha? Because of her strong personality? Because she was so much like him in every other way?

His fingers ached with cold, and as he ran numb hands under warm water he looked hard at his own reflection above the sink. He could see little of his daughter in his own face – she didn't resemble her mother much, either, instead manifesting as her own unique amalgamation of their genes. He'd always had the sense they were outlined, patterned, and cut from the same cloth, and this was the one aspect that belied that. That and her enthusiasm for... well, just about everything.

And now this.

He had no choice but to return to his own chambers in sodden clothes, but he ran a towel over himself so he wouldn't drip on the way. It felt wrong to leave Talia uncovered on her bed, but the heat would return soon, and she should stay cool as long as possible.

He looked down at her, curled on her side atop the tangle of her blankets. He hadn't seen her unclothed in years. Beneath her damp underwear she was athletic and feline, her dusky skin graced with the same patterns of parallel lines that he possessed; fewer in quantity than his own and typically hidden by clothing, but still present, sweeping like a river's oxbow over her hipbones. The caramel mass of her hair, weighed down with water, was already starting to curl again. Now that she'd gotten from her mother.

He could still smell her heat, quelled only momentarily by the shower. His self-control was iron but it had tested him to the breaking point to hold her in his arms, to be the support she needed, rather than taking the coward's way out and fleeing the scene. He couldn't recall a time he'd reacted in such extremes to an omega.

His instincts seemed unperturbed by the fact that his own daughter was the omega in question.

Her hands had been so small on him, mindlessly searching; wanting. In the disorientation of her fever she couldn't have known of how distinctly unfilial her movements were, how sinuous and primal her desperation.

Only one thing could break a heat, and that was being mated by an alpha.

The connection between that fact and her reaction to him merited further thought, but not now. It was too... delicate a matter. A blood-related alpha and omega responding to each other was unheard of. In the rare instances it happened, often it led to an ugly revelation about the child's paternity – and Thanos knew, both instinctively and from his and Talia's few but telling shared physical traits, that was not applicable here.

He had to draw back from falling into a maze of conjecture. No, not now.

The next few days would be difficult for her, but she would have to endure. Heat suppressants took two weeks to kick in, so were worthless now. Though she must be confined, measures could be taken to alleviate her heat – he'd have the temperature controls in her rooms lowered, and provide her with mild sedatives if she so chose.

That his beloved daughter presented omega was unforeseen, but of no consequence to him – on Titan omegas had been rare, and exceptionally valued and cherished – but still his displeasure at himself, for having let her experience that confusion and distress, remained as he left her.

The same guard was still on duty outside the door and he jumped to attention as Thanos exited.

“I want a pair of guards here until further notice,” he instructed. “Beta or omega only. Am I understood?”

The guard nodded so hard his helmet wobbled.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Talia woke she felt as if she hadn't slept at all. She was hungry but instead of calling for food she stripped away her underwear and went straight back to the shower, cranking the handle to cold as far as it could go and shutting her bleary eyes under the deluge.

 _Omega._ The word felt foreign even to think, a grain of sand inside a clam. She supposed she'd been aware of this chance in the vaguest sense, but never gave it much thought. Population divisions varied from planet to planet, sometimes drastically, but overall the rough numbers across the board had betas at 50% with 30% for alphas and 20% for omegas. So the likelihood had been low to begin with, but given that she'd expected to present alpha like her father...

She remembered him coming to her, but could only dredge up snippets of things they'd said under the water. He'd held her; for a long time, she thought. Even through the crisp cold spray he'd smelled different, though she couldn't say how.

This development didn't mean much of anything, really, she continued telling herself, trying to ignore how the freezing stream was starting to feel more and more lukewarm. It would take adjusting to but it didn't change who she already was, and aside from the most backwater worlds, none of the three biological roles granted any difference in social status. And though heat suppressants had negative side effects for some individuals, by and large they were so reliable as to almost nullify a heat cycle.

The injections were only monthly, weren't they? And heats four or five times a year? She could handle that.

If she made it through this first.

Despair all but overtook her before she squashed it down. Mind over matter, she tried to remind herself – it was just hormones, they didn't rule her. She was not actually ill, she was not being harmed, she was fine.

She was fine.

 

 

* * *

 

 

She was not fine.

Talia paced her chambers – seven steps straight across the front room, six again across her bedroom, three for the bathroom. Sixteen total, or seventeen depending on how she chose to bypass the desk in her path.

She wore not a stitch of clothing, letting the cool air from the vents gust over her. It barely helped, but it was better than nothing. Twenty-four hours into her heat and and with nothing to eat since yesterday's breakfast, she was starving now, but no food seemed appetizing. The physical fever was not as bad as yesterday but now she was brimming with fidgety energy despite her fitful night's sleep. And the carnal preoccupation, the craving, the hot ache between her legs... that was worse.

When discussing such adult mysteries with friends in early adolescence, she'd wondered in idle curiosity what taking an alpha's knot might feel like. At the time she decided it sounded uncomfortable, but figured she'd never have to bother with it. Now it sounded like the best thing in the world.

During her back-and-forth circuit of her rooms she was coming to terms with her presentation, but processing this immense _need_ was taking longer. She'd had a couple nebulous and fleeting crushes before, admired attractive specimens, and had fully expected that short period of aggressive sexual desire that came with alpha presentation.

This? This wasn't desire. This was an onslaught.

Alphas went into rut their first time, and after that, only when set off by an omega in heat. She'd known she should probably find a nice beta boyfriend to take out her rut on, but never got around to it. Funny; her procrastination was a silver lining. No awkward explanations necessary now.

Talia collapsed on her little couch, petulantly shifting and wriggling, trying to find a comfy position. She was trapped: everything felt stale. She wanted to be outside, to stretch and move, to feel fresh rather than recycled air ruffle her hair. She'd lay in the grass in blissful ignorance like a dumb creature, and there would be guiding words and knowing hands that could somehow make her feel whole.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thanos stood outside Talia's door, listening to her distraught voice through the intercom. 

“I took the sedatives two hours ago and they aren't doing anything.”

“I was afraid of that. Many medications have no effect on me, either.” He'd ordered the medications and a light meal sent to her earlier that afternoon, and just now a lackey had come to inform him Talia asked the guards via intercom to see him.

“It's so stuffy in here, can't I walk in the gardens?”

It was unlikely anyone would make a try for her if Thanos was there as protector, but rut could spur even sensible alphas to do foolhardy things, and he wasn't in the mood to kill anyone. “You know that would be a bad idea.”

Her sigh was a crackle over the speaker, accepting but discouraged. “Are you not coming in?”

How to refuse, to explain why he could not be there for her, must leave her to go through this in isolation?

“It would be best I not do that, daughter.”

“What? Why not?” She was starting to sound panicky, out of breath. She could be excitable sometimes, but that particular tone was not one he was accustomed to hearing from her, and it made his insides twist.

He could find a mature and dependable alpha to ease this for her, it was not unheard of, but that felt indescribably sordid. Thinking on it now, did he trust anyone to such an intimate degree? Her peer group on the ship was small, and as far as he knew there were no alphas among her circle of friends – even if there were, some teenager who'd barely popped his first knot wasn't remotely close to the category of “trusted.” Thanos would have no inexperienced whelp sweating and straining over his daughter.

That entire line of thinking induced a vague nausea in him, so he dismissed it altogether. Talia was strong; she could weather this. There was no other choice. He told her so through the intercom.

“You don't understand,” she retorted. Even without seeing her, he knew her voice was belligerent to mask tears. He steeled himself against it, just as he steeled himself against the scent radiating from the doorway like the most extravagant perfume.

“I don't want this,” she muttered; muffled, as if she'd turned away from the speaker. “This is torture. I can't think, I can't stand it, I can't... you don't know... and I'm all by myself in here...”

Thanos knew the door code, and could've entered without announcement. Instead he pushed the 'request access' button; forcefully, as if he blamed it for all this.

He grit his jaw.

“Let me in.”

 

 

* * *

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

 

Talia swathed a sheet around her torso before she admitted him, scrubbing damp eyes with the back of her hand. Thanos' brow was creased, and he scanned her as if to check she was still whole and unharmed.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said, feeling small and disconsolate. His mouth quirked reassuringly and he went down on one knee, settling consoling hands on her bare shoulders. She curved her hands over his wrists and melted into him, pretending the rest of the universe was very far away and she wasn't suffering this heat and all that existed was the refuge of his embrace.

“It pains me to see you this way.” The rumble of his voice vibrated against her cheek.

She ran her hands up his arms, so she could hug him more fully, and as she twined them around his neck he seemed to flinch. She tried to wonder why, but she could only focus on the breadth of his shoulders and how solid he was and how he smelled like the warm air before a summer storm. Olfactory abilities increased after presentation, and were further heightened during heat or rut – had he always smelled like that, and she just hadn't been able to tell yet?

She parted her lips, so she could breathe it in better, and she'd swear she could taste his skin solely through inhaling –

But Thanos was disentangling himself from her now and she swayed, light-headed, her limbs not wanting to separate from him.

“Don't go yet,” she murmured dazedly, “Please... stay with me, I don't want to be alone.”

“I know, and that is why I must leave.”

“What do you mean?”

His gaze was averted, as if he found something very interesting in the black of space outside her viewport, but his chest was rising and falling as if he'd gone several rounds in the sparring ring. She slid sideways and into his line of sight, notching herself between his knees. Still he did not look at her.

“I cannot stay with you.” His words were deliberate, detached. “Not when you are... do you understand me, daughter?”

She was beginning to.

She couldn't remember having reached out to touch him again: but she must have because her hands were on his shoulders, rigid fingertips making depressions. His jaw worked.

“I can't do this,” she panted helplessly. “I – I can't endure it. If you don't touch me I'm going to die.”

He started visibly at that, a cord in his neck standing out. At last he met her eyes – his pupils were blown, ringed with silver.

“If you – if you must have this, I will arrange someone.” His was rasping and stilted. Before now, had she ever seen him anything less than sure of himself?

“It has to be... I want – ” She was tripping over her words, couldn't catch her breath. “It has to be you.”

“Talia, don't – ”

“I don't want some stranger all over me!” That wasn't quite true – if a willing alpha materialized in front of her, she didn't think she'd turn him down – but she didn't _want_ that. Couldn't bear anyone else. Not when she felt as exposed and defenseless as a frayed nerve, not when her father was here, who had always been her everything, who she trusted with every atom of her being...

Her head fell forward onto his shoulder, breath coming quick and ragged, her frame molding into his larger one. Right here, she'd always felt so _correct,_ she and him coming together like halves of a puzzle with only two pieces.

His hands spanned her waist, fisting in the sheet.

“Daddy, please.”

He groaned, and it sounded as desperate as she felt.

He sank down on both knees and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her almost too tight as her thighs parted around him. She choked at the sensation of his jutting arousal but rubbed wantonly on him, blood roaring in her ears, the hot pounding _need_ rising up like a tidal wave. The sheet was hiked up to her ass now and it only took one tug from him to bring it away and leave her nude in his lap. His hands were everywhere, just as she'd longed for _(had it been vague and amorphous hands, in those imaginings, or his?)_ and she could feel her own wetness on the front of his trousers.

“Please, please,” she said like a mantra, dizzy with anticipation. He shoved one hand between them to fumble with his belt and she whined at the brush of his knuckles on her sex.

Roughly he pushed her down on the floor – the cool stone was hard on her back, but it hardly registered – and came with her, his weight delicious between her thighs. She clawed at his shirt and he obliged by yanking it off over his head. She'd seen him shirtless once or twice at some distant point in the past, but not recently, and she drank in the shadows and contours of his powerful physique. She reached for him, wanting his bare skin on hers, but he hesitated above her.

“Not here,” he said, as if coming back to himself.

“Yes here,” she protested, “I can't wait anymore, it doesn't matter – ”

“You won't be saying that when you're stuck on the ground on your back for twenty minutes.”

He rose with ease as she held on, legs locked around his waist, and carried her to the bed. She was unwilling to let go so they went down together in a heap, his half-undone belt clicking, catching himself on one forearm so as not to crush her.

He stared at her for a moment, focusing through the cloud of alpha rut. His gaze traveled down her body before he moved up over her, smoothing back her curls, touching the pad of his thumb to her trembling bottom lip. Then he breathed in, and as he caught her pheromones again his eyes flared. He cupped her face, rough fingers sliding into her hair, his forehead meeting hers as he worked down his trousers with the other hand.

Relief was so close she could almost grasp it and she arched up into him, clutching at his biceps, and he groaned low in his throat. The hard silky length of him slotted against her heated sex and her cursory jolt of nerves was immediately snuffed by a frantic thrill of arousal.

He said nothing; neither did she. There was no pause in the fluid thrust of his hips as he filled her – with a high squeak of pain she froze, nails marking his arms, endorphins firing in every cell. But the stretch and burn was meaningless next to the adrenaline, the sheer completion, the electric undercurrent of pleasure about to surface.

Her inner walls had yet to fully adjust before he flexed back and drove into her again, and again. She clung to him, delirious and enraptured – by the faint sound he made in her ear each time he bottomed out, by the slide of his musculature on her breasts, by the inexplicably erotic rub of his belt buckle on her inner thigh since he hadn't even taken the few seconds to remove his trousers. She heard her own unbridled moans as if emanating from someone else, every fiber in her singing; she bucked up into him, too fevered to find a particular rhythm, pushed to her limits by the size of him but still needing, seeking, so close –

“Slower, daughter,” he said tightly. “Or I may hurt you.”

Somehow his warning only inflamed her and she whimpered, shifting side to side. He pressed her hipbone with one palm, as if to stop her.

“You won't,” she swore. “You won't, you won't, it's okay, please...”

“You... overwhelm me.” Beneath her hands his muscles were tense with restraint.

“I trust you.”

There was a wildness to his own movements now, her body was rocked by the force of his pace, and she flung her arms around him, inundated with pleasure and satisfaction and gratitude and wordless, visceral things. _Of course it could never have been anyone else..._

A ripple ran through him and he inhaled sharply – and then there was a swelling inside her, an abrupt expanding, and he ground his hips into her so she could take all of his bulging knot. On reflex her muscles contracted around him and she let out a strangled cry, eyes rolling back. Still he moved within her, shallower now due to the tie, his breathing staccato and fierce. He filled her to the point of bursting; the raw friction was indescribable, her climax rushing at her like stars through hyperspace –

His knot pulsed, pumping his seed deep into her, and as her release crashed into her she bowed off the bed, grip so tight around his neck it might've choked a lesser man. Her scream was more a sob; she hid her face in the solid column of his throat.

Locked together now, he transferred his weight to one side, letting her breathe freely again. Until she got a lungful of fresh oxygen she didn't realize how close she'd been to hyperventilating. As the peak of her pleasure dissipated she felt like weeping, not from anguish but so overcome by the euphoric end to the agony of her heat.

He was resting his forehead on his braced forearm, his jugular vein twitching. He turned; their eyes met, and held. His were heavy-lidded but they sparked to alertness when he noticed the glitter of her tears.

“Daughter.” His voice was thick, but feather-soft with concern.

Things unsaid hung between them. Both waited for the encroaching creep of shame, guilt, disgust, the remorse each knew they probably should be experiencing but weren't.

It had been a long time since Thanos had knotted an omega. Longer still since he'd had sex with anyone he truly cared for. He hadn't forgotten what that was like but this all-encompassing sense of consummation, of rightness, more knowledge than a feeling, was transcendent. His pulse wouldn't slow.

His arms came around into a shelter on either side of her as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. Talia's dreamy buzz, as if from a generous glass of good wine, sank deeper into intoxication. She was fascinated by how his mouth felt through her hair, by the contrast of his frame against hers, and she dragged exploratory fingers down his shoulder blades.

At the fresh throb of his knot she whined a little, an unsteady inhale. The cant of his hips into her over-sensitive channel was an exquisite torment, and she cried out and almost bit the thumb grazing her lip.

“If you're in pain, I am sorry for it.” His contrition tickled her temple, his cheek resting on her forehead. “Short of rendering me unconscious in some manner, the tie is impossible to break early.”

“It doesn't hurt.” Pleasure licked through her core and she tightened her thighs around him, shaken by the intensity of it all, her thoughts as intangible as morning mist. “It's just... a lot.”

His noise of acknowledgment turned guttural as her nails raked the lines arcing down both sides of his spine. His arms slid under her back, enfolding her as if in a cocoon, and with a rasping groan he buried his face in her hair.

Talia drifted for a while, existing in some peaceful and timeless space ribboned through only by the occasional brush of his lips beneath her ear, or a hitch in his breath, or another spurt filling her up. So thorough was her languor that she didn't realize right away when his knot subsided, but suddenly the concentrated pressure was diminished, and he was extracting his arms from beneath her, and she could only wince and lay boneless as he unmounted her.

Thanos came up on hands and knees over her, his cock slick and absurdly big even as it settled. Until now she'd never glimpsed one in person, aside from the time she'd accidentally entered the wrong locker room at the training hall, and she was glad she hadn't seen his before or she would've been more than somewhat alarmed.

She tipped her head back, met the eyes she knew so well, and just looked at her father. She tried to shift her perspective and place him in a new light, a being separate from the one who'd come to her chambers less than an hour ago – but he was the same as ever, just with another facet. It was as though she'd happened upon a new room in a home she'd lived her entire life – or a closed door she'd passed every day, and only now dared to open.

His returned gaze was steady, and patient, and deeply intimate if not a shade guarded.

She could say a lot of things. She wasn't sure which of these possibilities he expected; or preferred. Or how she could even phrase the emotions welling up in her chest.

“Don't speak, little one,” he said, as if having read her indecision. “We don't need to talk just now.”

She didn't know the right arrangement of words, but she knew what she felt, and she gripped his shoulders and pulled him down and kissed him.

For a heartbeat or two he was motionless. Then his hands cradled her face, the firm press of his mouth deepening into searing passion with no hesitation. The depth of it, his and hers alike, might have frightened her, but still she opened to him with exhilarated, unadulterated emotion. For despite the vehemence in his kiss he held her the way one handles something priceless: with care, focus, and total adoration.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thanos showered after leaving his daughter drowsy and sated in her bed. It wouldn't totally eliminate the evidence of mating, nothing could, but it would at least camouflage the telltale rut pheromones and the secondhand scent of Talia's heat.

Pregnancy couldn't occur during first heats, so that was a non-issue. Then again, blood relatives never responded to each other, either, so how useful were the 'nevers' and 'shouldn'ts' now? Regardless, the creation of Thanos' kind eons ago had perfected their genes and eliminated any possibility of inbreeding. He would remember to tell Talia, later. In case she was worried.

Though the lust was slaked his blood was still high, and he needed a solitary moment to calm and organize his mind. The viewing deck by his chambers offered an unmatched panorama but the stars blurred for him, his thoughts uncharacteristically convoluted.

In some ways Talia was exuberant and fearless, even in tandem with her sentimental disposition; today she had been vulnerable, almost fragile in her desperation. As a father, his reflex was to protect and pacify – as an alpha, resisting the omega he loved so much was all but beyond his control.

But in the end it hadn't been beyond his control. He wasn't carried away by instinct or temptation. He'd made the choice.

He allowed himself to be absorbed in the brand new memory of her shining eyes, the wholehearted response of her body and soul, yielding to him so readily and so sweetly. Paradoxically there was an indefinable purity to it, simple and sinless –

His introspection was broken by the shuffle of footsteps, and annoyance at the interruption spiked through him as his wife appeared in his peripheral vision.

“Have you been to see Talia? How is she?”

_Laying gorgeous and half-asleep with the come that made her still dripping out of her._

“Better,” Thanos said diplomatically. It wasn't a lie.

Cass was unobjectionable by every definition of the word but her bland inquiries were an irritation and distraction now. What had it been, three days since he last saw her? He couldn't recall. It was not something he bothered to keep track of.

She made as if to draw nearer but paused at the shift in his body language.

“I wish to be left alone.” Alone in his should-be-sordid-but-wasn't contemplation. Alone with the trace of his daughter's scent lingering on him, on a level soap and water couldn't touch. A beta's sense of smell was not so strong as an alpha's or omega's, and the shower had tamped down much of it, but if Cass got close enough, something private and profound would be revealed before he was ready.

“If you'll excuse me, then,” she murmured.

Thanos was left at last, in the dark but not unwelcoming labyrinth of his introspection.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Talia found both relief from her heat and a near-halcyon relaxation, as if she'd enjoyed a long and luxurious vacation. The heat would not come to a total end quite yet, but the symptoms were dramatically reduced – her scent was near-imperceptible and her arousal manageable.

So she resumed her normal activities, but after two days of having neither seen nor heard a whisper from Thanos, she wondered if he was avoiding her. She didn't think so, not after... but maybe he was ashamed now. Since he'd knotted her she had looked for this response within herself, sought long and hard, and yet there was none to be found.

Despite his absence she moved about the ship with a bounce in her step, and tried not to dwell on it. Impossible, but she kept herself occupied. She found herself blessed with an unexpected increase in energy and stamina in the training ring, and though she suspected it was a placebo effect rather than a genuine physiological phenomenon, she took advantage of it nonetheless. She even managed to eke out her first triumph over Proxima Midnight.

“First and last,” Proxima informed her with a sneer, but it lacked any real venom. Then her black eyes cut over Talia's shoulder, and Talia knew who she would find when she turned, and of course it was her father standing there by the sparring platform steps and yet still something inside her stumbled.

“I would speak with you, daughter.” Thanos' demeanor was as collected as ever. He pitched his voice to carry, and the scattered handful of people using rings throughout the room understood his implicit instruction. Proxima dipped her head in respect as she passed, and joined the others headed for the exit.

A curl had escaped her ponytail during the match, and Talia blew it away as she approached the edge of the platform.

“You should lose this habit,” Thanos said absently, indicating her bare feet. “Your enemies will not wait for you to take your boots off.”

“It feels good to fight this way,” she said, stretching up on her toes. Atop the platform, she was eye level with him. “Makes me feel connected to everything.”

“Some things that feel good are not necessarily best for us.” His expression was arranged into careful neutrality.

Talia was reddened from the exercise, but a fresh flush stained her cheeks. She needed no further clarification.

“Your heat scent is stronger after exertion,” he noted, as she toyed self-consciously with the hem of her tank top. “You should be careful the next few days.”

She shrugged. “Nobody's treated me any differently. It's so faint now.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “I think you're the only one who can notice it.”

Finally she wrenched her gaze up to his. In his eyes was a chaotic blend of intense affection, and reserve, and something akin to melancholy that she didn't understand.

It was a challenge to maintain a steady voice. She didn't quite succeed. “Why can you notice it at all, Father?”

“I wish I had an answer for you.” The corners of his eyes creased in an almost-smile of rueful commiseration. “It is an unusual situation we've gotten ourselves into, isn't it.”

She compressed her lips. His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out but curbed himself.

“I have spent many hours in thought, Talia. But before too much time passes, I must say this. And I promise you my honesty, if you will give it in return.”

She nodded mutely.

“I believe there are things in life meant for us to be, or do, or have. Perhaps you and I are meant... for each other. And that is why the cosmos brought us together how it did. To ensure it.” A muscle in his cheek, in the spot where a dimple made rare appearances, ticked. “Perhaps not.”

 _Not?_ Her tongue was dry and strange and uncooperative against her palate.

“If you regret what happened between you and I, Talia, and want to leave it behind and never discuss it again, I will understand.”

“Don't say that,” she blurted, tongue unsticking and words running together. “Are you trying to... to give me an out? Or are you just offering it in hopes I'll take it? Because if you mean it, if you're the one who regrets this, I'll...”

His solemn composure felt like thin plating over magma. When she faltered, he said, “Go on.”

Her chin quivered and she looked away to hide her weakness. “I'll... I don't know what I'll do.”

“If that is so, then I have more to say.” His pronouncement was forceful and unblinking. He took her chin between thumb and forefinger. “You are my treasure and my heart, daughter. You have been since the day your mother died and you were brought here. You were made by me and for me and if you chose to return to how we were, I would honor that. But I think it would leave a gap inside me that might never close.”

A hot tear formed on her lashes, and he brushed it away before it had a chance to fall.

“I think... _this_ has always been us, I just..." With an uneven exhale she turned her cheek into his palm. "I didn't realize it yet.”

"When the situation requires it your poise is nearly impeccable." Thanos was halting, careful with each word, lest more tumble out boundless behind it. "But with me your face still shows everything."

"Then you already know what I feel."

She'd barely gotten it out before he crushed her to him.

Talia surrendered with a gasp and a sigh; let him lay her down on the edge of platform, run his spread hands down her inner thighs and pull them on either side of his waist. Their kiss was the kind that breathed life into the drowned, though who was who was unclear and unimportant.

“Daddy,” she moaned, and he captured the sound with his mouth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

From across the lounge Cass gaped at the man she'd been married to for two years, the husband she barely knew. She'd accepted that for a long time now, but it was dawning on her just how deep her ignorance ran.

“Why do you reek of rut, _husband?_ ”

Thanos was as serene as a windless ocean. “You are mistaken.”

There was nothing suspicious about a parent and child, who spent significant time in close proximity, smelling of each other. But a rut could only be prompted by an omega's heat, and since there was just one of those on board...

“If you have done what I think you've done, Thanos...!?”

She couldn't finish it. It was too vile to utter aloud, as if verbalizing it would make it real. But she already knew, and he knew that she knew, and his eyes were like distant stars.

“Listen carefully, for I will say this only once.” He did not raise his voice. “Your opinion does not count here. This is not me being cruel, it's just a fact. Know that I recognize the unfairness of these circumstances to you, and you have my sympathy for it.”

He didn't even have the courtesy to look embarrassed. His bearing was somber, candid, and infuriatingly calm.

“But no matter your feelings, Cass Hellen, I will not be moved. Our marriage has never been one in the truest sense, so while your pride may have taken a hit, you cannot claim a wife's indignity.”

“This goes beyond infidelity,” she croaked. She wanted to both hit him and run from him. “This is depraved. If your followers knew, if your financiers had any idea, you would lose everything – ”

Thanos remained unruffled. “Do you think the fate of the universe rests on such trifles? That of all I have committed, this will be what breaks their faith?”

“Do you think I can accept it?” she barreled on. “Tolerate such perversion? Smile and keep silent and not tell a soul?”

The threat, at last, punctured his equanimity. His eyes hardened. 

“I will hear nothing further.” Cass was a tall woman, but she shrank as Thanos drew himself up. “If you breathe a word that leads to the smearing of my daughter's name and reputation, I will denounce you publicly, via every channel available to me, and send you back to your homeworld in disgrace. I know how much your decadent waste of a culture values saving face.”

She gaped like a fish. She couldn't pretend to be truly hurt. Just stunned.

“As it stands now, I'd say this marriage has run its course.” Thanos delivered this with the same tone he might use to remark that dinner was burnt and would have to be sent back to the kitchens. “I will initiate divorce proceedings – with discretion, provided you treat my private affairs with the same courtesy.”

“I knew your morals could be divergent, but have you none at all?” she demanded. “If you're not ashamed of your actions, why do you want me to hide them?”

A hint of a smile passed across the titan's granite features, as if he was thinking of something else entirely, something unfathomable and sacrosanct. It echoed the way conquerors reflect on their victories, explorers on their discoveries, and holy men on their visions.

“You couldn't possibly understand.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I still feel bad. About Cass.”

“You shouldn't. She and I both knew what our marriage was from the start." He ran a leisurely fingertip over the outer curve of her ear. "It was an unpleasant shock to her but it had to be done, and she is now with her own people and free to pursue whichever occupation or love match she wishes.”

Talia sprawled between Thanos' knees, her back to his chest, spangled in the sunspots filtering through the trailing branches of the tree he rested against. He'd granted her craving to get off the ship and outdoors – a few months later than when she'd really needed it, but their course hadn't brought them near an appropriate planet until now.

In the midst of her second heat, the suppressants were working exactly as intended, with only an uptick in arousal and a scent that wasn't even concentrated enough to turn heads.

Aside from one.

They had yet to figure that mystery out. Talia would be fascinated to know the workings behind it, Thanos' logical brain even moreso, but it was not worthy of undue obsession. It had been a catalyst, but itself caused nothing - only bringing to the surface that which already existed.

Now and then a bug hummed through the dappled shade, iridescent shell flashing in the light like a flying gem. Thanos' breathing against her back was tranquil and steady.

“Daddy, what if... people find out?”

“I'm sure they will eventually.” His reply was a mellow rumble against her. “Does that upset you?”

In the distance the planet's lush rainforest spilled out from a low valley, vapor veiling the treetops. This tiny world they'd come across was verdant, uninhabited, and pristine. One of many things they shared was a fondness for wild and unspoiled places.

“I know how they'll see it. As ugly, and obscene.”

“Do you think that of us?”

She twisted in his arms, scowling up at him. “No!”

His eyes crinkled and he soothed her outrage with a hand to her hair, fitting her under his chin again. “I hear the conviction in your voice, daughter. And when you have conviction, the opinions of others are as immaterial as the insects around us. They cannot sway you, or taint what you know to be true.”

She sighed and envisioned her worry going out with it, to be remain behind when she and her father left this place. His own inviolable certainty reinforced what she already knew: that there was no force in the galaxy that could shake her from his side. And as if he sensed this renewal of spirit, the sanctuary of his arms came around her.

“Be at peace, little one.” The pulse in his wrist was resolute under her fingertips, strong with the blood that ran through both their veins. “Besides, there are few who would dare offer insult to my face. And if they try it with you, come to me, and they will see what happens when they denigrate the daughter of Thanos.”

His kiss on the crown of her head would have lingered but she finagled herself around, straddling his lap and fitting the apex of her thighs flush to him.

"Where is your decency?" he questioned, but only with faux and indulgent chastisement. "Shameless child of mine." 

He stopped her arms before they could circle around his neck. His brow was still lined, his gaze pensive but assured and warm. “Do you trust me?”

He didn't need to ask. She didn't need to answer. But she brought his hand up and pressed her lips to each knuckle, and when she'd finished, he curved his palm to her cheek and tilted up to kiss her.

And into his mouth, she swore, “With all my heart.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same._

_\- Emily Bronte_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
